Desperate Times
by Gate Keeper1073
Summary: In which our hero finds himself out of options, out of room and out of time with only the most meager of tools to save him. He doesn't feel too good about it either. Based on a playthrough experience. One-shot. Don't take it too seriously


**Hello Everone!**

**My name is Gatekeeper and welcome to this story!**

**For those who have seen my work before, Hello! I'm trying out a new way to style my chapters, tell me if you like it as it may affect how my other's stories look**

**To newcomers, Welcome! I'm a fairly recent author here who has mainly dabbled in the Sonic fanbase with a newer story out that's based in the X-COM universe. Go check them out!**

**I have a confession to make on this one: I really love axes. I don't know why but I think they are so cool. Also Shotguns. Shotguns are also very cool. While shotguns sadly have not been invented in the Elder Scrolls universe axes have been, so that's a wonderful thing.**

**This story is based on my most recent character, whose name is the same. The overall actions of this story are true to the gameplay but seeing as how you don't really talk... I took some artistic license on that lol**

**I've not made a intense focus on my stories on comedy/humor, let me know what you think!**

**Thank you for reading,**

**Gatekeeper**

Bertold Iron-hold thought himself a fairly capable man, if not very handsome. He could cook a fair meal if needed to, repair and make anything in a forge and knew some basic alchemy. He knew how to keep a house clean, if a little messy. He was well versed in swordsmanship, using it nearly everyday. He'd helped with a murder investigation and could easily navigate the regions of Skyrim.

He could kill dragons, he was pretty good at that too. He even managed to kill Alduin and saw Sovengard. That had been a trip.

Yes, Bertold had found himself the center of a large amount of exceptionally unwanted attention. A tall, blond man of Nordic blood, he was fairly unique growing up in the traveling caravan his family managed but now in Skyrim was able to blend in without much trouble. It made things easy when he didn't want to deal with the conniving Jarls and enemies that he as the Dragonborn had made.

Yes, Bertold always thought himself a capable man both in regular life and as the Dragonborn. Yet he was getting rather annoyed that this draugr wasn't dead yet.

He was nearing the end of his self made quest to recover the last Gauldur amulet fragment when he ran into the undead annoyance.

After delving deep into the crypt of Saarthal he had found himself entering a room with a raised stone platform and two sets of ramps leading up to it with a sealed iron door at the far wall. As he did a unseen sarcophagus broke open, showing a draugr bedecked in rusting armor and a large battle axe rise up.

Bertold had long discovered that the stronger undead wore helmets with increasingly ornate sets of horns built in, and this one had the largest pair he'd ever seen.

He wondered if they were compensating for something, but didn't want to assume.

He knew that this one was supposedly a draugr Deathlord, how he was able to instantly recognize people and things he never saw before continued to boggle him. Perhaps it was the dragon's blood in his veins.

Now he'd been fighting for a few minutes now, much longer than he had any of the other undead in Saarthal. It was really aggravating that this one refused to die again.

But Bertold couldn't help but admit that he enjoyed the challenge.

The undead swung with his heavy battle axe, forcing Bertold to block the strike with his shield and pull away. He quickly countered with a shield bash, stunning the undead for a few precious seconds which he used to mercilessly cleave into his enemy with a glass war axe.

While the fight was certainly difficult, Bertold knew that he had the clear advantage, even without using the Thu'um.

They were currently fighting on the top of the stone platform, with the two stone ramps behind them both, and the sealed doorway to the left of Bertold.

Bertold disengaged while waiting for the draugr to recover, panting slightly as he tried to recover some energy.

When the draugr recovered however, instead of rushing back at Bertold it took a few steps back and straightened up, centuries old skin cracking from the unexpected movement.

_Wait a minute_ thought Bertold. _Don't those Draugr Wights do the same thing when they are going to Shout?_

"_**ZUN HAAL VIIK!" **_ Cried the Draugr as a light blue cone rushed towards Bertold.

_I hate it when I'm right _he thought.

Unable to dodge Bertold was soon covered by the cone, which ripped his weapon right out of his hands. The glass axe flew backwards off into a crevice on the ground floor.

He looked back at the Draugr, which stood laughing deeply despite hts unmoving chest and permanent grin.

_Well at least you're laughing about all this. _Grumbled Bertold as he scowled darkly.

He then realized that he could also use the Thu'um. His scowl quickly morphed into a grin.

The Draugr quickly advanced, bringing his axe high above his head for a powerful strike.

Bertold waited, building the words in his throat.

As soon as the Dragur came within striking distance, he shouted.

"_**FUS RO DAH!"**_

The Dragur flew off the platform, it's head clipping a stone pillar on the way down. Bertold heard the clatter of armor hitting the ground and chuckled.

He retrieved his weapon and went back up to the platform. He was reaching for the chain that would open the door when he heard the Draugr get up. Peering down he saw the undead warrior stare at him with glowing eyes from the bottom of the ramp.

Sighing Bertold said "You don't know when to quit do ya?" He readied his axe and shield once more.

The Dragur ran up the ramp and swung his axe, forcing Bertold back. Bertold quickly took up a position by a corner of the stone sarcophagus near the edge facing the lower open area opposite of where the Dragur was coming up the ramp.

The Dragur came at Bertold, running around the coffin to face him directly, the sarcophagus to his right side.

They engaged each other fiercely, blocking and striking without mercy. Neither gave any ground to the other. Bertold was once again at an advantage, his smaller weapon working well around the cramped spacing of the area. He was tired, however, and unable to stun his opponent. The Draugr was unrelenting, tirelessly beating down Bertold's defences even as he received wounds himself.

Bertold knew it was a stalemate he couldn't afford to keep up, but until his Thu'um recovered he was stuck here.

The draugr, however, had a different plan. Bertold was staggered for a moment, recovering from a powerful blow when the draugr struck.

"_**ZUN HAAL VIIK!"**_

The shout, amplified by the closeness of the two and perhaps the will of the gods to make it interesting sent Bertold's axe not only flying, but enough that the glass axe head became stuck in the stone itself in the wall by the lower level door. His shield snapped off his wrist, clattering to the floor below.

Bertold was not happy with the circumstances.

Seeing his predicament, the draugr attacked. Bertold managed to duck out of the way but noticed that his left foot seemed uncooperative.

Looking down he saw that his foot had somehow gotten caught up in the rotted bindings of a nearby wooden support beam.

_Well that's just great._ Bertold thought

Doing his best Bertold tried to wrest his foot free of the accidental binding while also dodging the attacks of the draugr. He couldn't make any headway with the undead warrior trying to kill him, so he risked getting hit by the axe to draw in his opponent before putting all his power into a right hook. His blow landed, knocking the creature back.

Bertold didn't waste a moment, unsheathing a glowing orcish dagger and freeing him of his bindings. The draugr, having recovered, stepped forward to strike. Bertold managed to block the blow with the dagger and quickly stab the undead in the arm, making him drop his hand off the axe.

Bertold glanced backward and then dropped off the edge of the stone platform. He ran to the entrance of the room and changed out his dagger for a refined dwarven bow. As he notched an arrow he saw the head of the draugr peek over the edge of the platform, like a puppy wondering why his owner stopped playing with him.

The first arrow to the head made the draugr understandably angry. It walked around to the edge of the ramp, Bertold closely following as he notched the next arrow.

He succeeded in getting another four arrows into the draugr before it got too close.

It came in for a powerful overhead chop, but Bertold was able to duck out of the way so that the draugr stumbled into the wall. Bertold sprinted up the stone ramp, whirling around again to let loose another volley of arrows.

As he got ready to let loose the first, the draugr shouted again

"_**ZUN HAAL VIIK!"**_

Bertold's bow went flying out of his hands and he sighed.

_I'm not even angry now, I'm just impressed he can still shout. My throat is still raw from the one I used on him._

Without hesitation, Bertold pulled out his orcish dagger and attacked. The Draugr was immediately put on the defensive.

They battled for a while, Bertold being able to slip inside the undead's defense while the draugr tried to push him away for a good swing.

Bertold was fatigued from the drawn out fight, but he noticed that the draugr was very weak. It limped from the various wounds it received and it's strikes were slower than before.

The two continued to fight, and Bertold grew more confident that victory was near.

That was until the draugr let out a shout without warning

"_**ZUN HAAL VIIK!"**_

With his dagger thrown aside Bertold was well and truly unarmed. With his axe stuck in a wall and both his bow and dagger out of sight the chance of victory he had was gone.

The Draugr came up and lifted his battle-axe above his head for a killing blow.

_Will here goes nothing. Sovengard awaits if it fails._

"_**FUS!" **_cried Bertold as he let out a pain filled shout. His lungs and throat burned from the reuse of the Thu'um without proper rest.

The shout struck the draugr at the perfect moment, toppling it to the ground with the sudden shift in balance.

Bertold sprinted past the draugr to the door he entered in, and tried tugging on the axe.

It wouldn't budge. He'd need to pry it off with something but he couldn't do it now.

The draugr started to recover and was shuffling to it's feet.

Bertold was for once since a long time, truly afraid. In desperation he started to search the outside of his travel pack, hoping to find a weapon he forgot about.

His fingers wrapped around a long wooden handle.

_By the Divines and the Daedra I didn't even know I had this! Finally I can end this!_

Bertold pulled on the handle and grabbed it in both hands, holding it in front of him.

It was a woodcutting axe, it's chipped iron head shining softly in the torchlights.

… _Nevermind that. Guess Sheogorath is laughing at me now. The only thing I'll be ending is my own life._

With a sigh, Bertold got into a fighting stance.

The draugr got up and turned around to face Bertold. It stood there and a deep rumble of laughter came from it's unmoving mouth.

"Oh shut it you bag of bones you're already dead!" yelled Bertold as he rushed forward.

They began to battle again; Bertold dodging as many strikes as he could while quickly hacking at the unarmored portions of the draugr. The wooden handle of the axe started to crack from the blocked blows of the battle-axe.

The draugr tried to shout again, but Bertold was able to leap behind one of the stone corners of the upper platform.

Apparently you can't disarm walls. Who knew?

But as the fight went on the draugr continued to slow down with every quick chop of the axe until finally, FINALLY it's glowing eyes dimmed and it fell to the floor.

Bertold stood there, sucking in deep breaths. After recovering some strength he searched about for his weapons, collecting them and getting his war axe out of the wall.

He checked to make sure he was ready to continue before going back to the dead body.

Raising the axe he swung down into the chest of the dead draugr, driving the axe head between the rusting breastplate it wore.

"Here, have this." Said Bertold as he released the handle of the axe, letting it stay in the body. "I'm glad we were able to bury the hatchet."

He then walked off to meet up with Tolfdir and find the last fragment of the amulet.


End file.
